Firefight

21

Babilar was starting to grow on me.

True, all the color was garish, but I couldn’t help but admire it just a little, particularly in contrast to the desolation between here and Newcago. Every glowing line coloring the walls and roofs here was a mark of humanity. A mixture of primitive cave paintings and modern technology, sprayed out of a can and humming with life all around me.

I walked down a bridge-different from the one we’d come in on. It led me to a quiet rooftop, with only a few deserted-looking tents and shanties. People preferred the roofs closer to the water level, it seemed. This one was a little too high.

I wasn’t certain why more people didn’t live inside the buildings. Wouldn’t that be safer? Of course, the insides of the buildings were jungles-humid, shadowy, and obviously unnatural. Perhaps the rooftops were just something the people could claim.

I strolled for a time. Maybe I should have been worried about the danger, but sparks, Regalia had held us all in her grip-then let us go. This wasn’t like Newcago, where Steelheart would have killed us in an eyeblink if he’d been able to find us. This was complicated. This was Epics and people living in a bizarre ecosystem, where the humans accepted that they might die at any moment-but still threw parties. Parties the Epics themselves might decide to visit.

Newcago had made far more sense. Steelheart at the top, lesser Epics beneath him, the favored serving them. The rest of us hiding in the corners. What sense did this city make?

Regalia has leashed the city’s gangs, I thought. And she’s somehow been gaining the loyalty of powerful Epics. She lets the common people have all the food they want, and has now attracted at least one highly trained specialist.

That all spoke of someone who was planning to do what Steelheart had in creating a powerful city-state. Regalia made the place inviting to bring people in from outside, then she gained the loyalty of several Epics to use in building an aristocracy. But if that was the case, why unleash Obliteration? Why would she build a city like this-imposing law, working for peace-only to destroy it? It made no sense.

Footsteps.

Growing up in the understreets of Newcago taught you a few things. The first was to jump the moment you thought someone was sneaking up on you. If you were lucky, it was just a mugger. If you were unlucky, you were dead.

I backed up against the side of a wooden shanty, crouching down and staying out of sight. Blue paint glowed out from behind me. Idiot, I thought. This isn’t Newcago. It’s normal for people to wander around here. There was probably no need to have hidden so quickly. I peeked up.

And found Newton crossing the rooftop at a prowl. She passed by in near silence, her figure dark against the spraypainted ground. She didn’t seem to have spotted me.

I ducked back down, sweating. Where was she going? I hesitated briefly, considering my options, and then peeked out to watch her cross the roof.

Then I followed her.

This is stupid, a part of me thought. I had no preparation, no plan to negate her powers. She was a High Epic-her powers actively protected her from harm. If my surveillance went poorly, I wouldn’t be able to simply shoot her, as my bullets would bounce back at me.

But she was involved with Regalia directly. Whatever was really going on in this city, Newton would be part of it, and watching her might give me important information. I moved in a crouch, taking cover behind old shanties as I tailed her. When I had to cross out into the open I did so quickly, and only once Newton had gotten far enough ahead. The buildings in this stretch were all about the same height and had been built very close together; you didn’t even need bridges to cross from one to the other, though ramps did connect some where the height difference was larger than a few feet.

I kept pace with her, and in so doing passed a few people lounging against the side of the otherwise-deserted building. Their clothing glowed with green paint, and they gave me a strange look before glancing toward Newton.

Then they scrambled to hide. Sparks. I was glad they had some sense to them, but I didn’t want their sudden motion to startle her. I hid beside a fallen wall.

Newton turned toward a long rope bridge. Sparks, that would be difficult to cross inconspicuously. How would I follow? Instead of crossing the bridge, however, Newton hopped off the side of the building. I frowned, then took a deep breath and snuck up to the edge of the roof. A small balcony rested below, with an open doorway leading into the building itself.

Right. Inside the building. Where my visibility would be limited, and I might stumble into a trap. Of course. I swung over the side and carefully climbed down to the balcony, then peeked in through the doorway.

The glowing fruit here had been harvested recently, probably for the party several rooftops over. That left the place dark, only a few phantom pieces of immature fruit giving light. It smelled of humidity-of that strange scent of plants and earth that was so different from the pristine steel of Newcago.

A rustling sound in the distance indicated the direction that Newton had gone. I climbed in through the broken doorway and followed cautiously. This had been a bedroom, judging by the bed overgrown with vines spilling onto the floor. I glanced out the door and found a narrow hallway. No-not a bedroom … a hotel room.

The confines were cramped-these rooms hadn’t been large in the first place, and a hallway lined with trees didn’t help. How did these plants live in here? I snuck forward, crawling over piled-up roots, when a dangling half-grown fruit tapped the side of my head.

Then it started blinking.

I stopped immediately, turning my head and staring at the strange fruit. Looked like a pear, and it was blinking off and on like a neon sign from one of the old movies. What …?

“They were at the party,” a female voice said.

Sparks! It came from a room just ahead of me. I’d almost crept right past, oblivious of the open doorway. I ignored the fruit, sneaking up and listening. “Three of them. Steelslayer left early. I followed, but lost him.”

Was that Newton talking?

“You lost him?” That deep voice was familiar. Obliteration. “I thought you didn’t do that.”

“I don’t.” Frustration in her tone. “It’s like he vanished.”

Sparks. I felt a chill run up my arms and wash across my body. Newton had been following me?

Quite aware that I was exhibiting a special brand of crazy, I peeked into the room. The foliage had been cleared away inside, the plants chopped down, opening up the small hotel room, making its bed and desk usable. One of the windows even still had intact glass, though the other was open to the air.

It was dark inside, but some spraypaint around the window gave just enough light for me to see Obliteration. He stood in his long black trench coat with hands clasped behind his back, looking out the window toward a city full of neon paint and partying people. Newton lounged beside the wall, spinning a katana in one hand.

What was it with people in this city and swords?

“You should not have allowed that one to slip away from you,” Obliteration said.

“Because you did such a good job of killing him?” Newton snapped. “Against orders, I might add.”

“I follow the orders of no man, mortal or Epic,” Obliteration said softly. “I am the cleansing fire.”

“Yeah. Whatever, creepshow.”

Obliteration raised an arm to the side in an almost absent motion, holding a long-barreled handgun. Of course he’d have a.357. I plugged my ears right as he pulled the trigger.

The bullet deflected. I could actually see it happen, which I hadn’t expected. A little flash of light from Newton, and a drawer in the desk near Obliteration exploded, wood chips scattering. The punk woman stood up straight, looking annoyed as Obliteration fired five more shots at her. Each one bounced off harmlessly.

I watched with fascination, my rational fear evaporating. What an incredible power. Hawkham in Boston had used force redirection, but bullets that bounced off him had usually ripped apart in midair. Here, the bullets actually changed direction, shooting backward away from her. How did they not collapse in the sudden change of trajectory?

They didn’t fly well, as far as I could tell from what I was seeing. Bullets weren’t meant to fly backward.

Obliteration lowered the gun.

“What is wrong with you?” Newton demanded.

“To whom shall I speak, and give warning, that they may hear?” Obliteration said, passionless. “Behold, their ear is uncircumcised, and they cannot hearken.”

“You’re crazy.”

“And you are very good with a sword,” Obliteration said softly. “I admire your skill.”

I frowned. What? Newton seemed to consider the remark odd as well, as she hesitated, lowering the katana and staring at him.

“Are you done shooting at me?” Newton finally said, sounding disturbed. Glad to hear I wasn’t the only one who found Obliteration supremely unnerving. “Because I want to get back. I’m hungry, and the food at that party was pathetic. Nothing but homegrown fruit.”

Obliteration didn’t glance at her. He whispered something, and I struggled to hear. I leaned forward.

“Corrupt,” Obliteration whispered. “All men are corrupt. The seed of the Epic is inside each one. And so, all must die. Mortal and immortal. All are-”

I slipped.

Though I caught myself quickly, my booted foot scraped across some bark. Obliteration spun, and Newton stood up straight, raising the katana in a firm grip.

Obliteration looked right at me.

But he didn’t seem to see me.

He frowned, looking past where I crouched, then shook his head. He strode over to Newton and took her by one arm. Then both teleported, a crash of light leaving behind glowing figures that crumbled away into nothing.

I righted myself, sweat streaming down the sides of my face, heart thumping.

I’d somehow managed to shake Newton without even realizing I was being followed. I didn’t accept that my quick duck out of the way had been enough, not if she’d been actively tailing me. Now this.

“All right, Megan,” I said. “I know you’re there.”

Silence.

“I have your gun,” I said, taking out the handgun. “Really nice weapon. P226, custom rubber grip, finger grooves, worn down a little on the sides. Looks like you took a lot of time fitting this to your hand.”

Silence.

I walked to the window and held the gun out of it. “Probably sinks really well too. It would be a shame if-”

“If you drop that, you idiot,” Megan’s voice said from the hallway outside, “I’ll rip your face off.”